


My Hand to Hold

by ParadiseAvenger



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Sleepy Cuddles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-10
Updated: 2015-04-10
Packaged: 2018-03-22 05:49:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3717508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ParadiseAvenger/pseuds/ParadiseAvenger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clarke wanted to protest, but she knew she had left Bellamy in a similar predicament a few days ago. Clarke figured she owed him this. Besides, at least this was comfortable and warm. She might even go back to sleep herself if Octavia would just stop laughing at them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	My Hand to Hold

Season Two Finale Spoiler Rant: I think it was very unfair of Clarke to leave, especially after Bellamy told her he could forgive her just like she did for him. He even used almost the same words! To me, she was saying that the weight she carried was bigger than his, like the lives he had taken were insignificant enough for him to be forgiven by her. I think it was really unfair of her so she’d better come back and beg for his forgiveness in Season Three.

Anyway, this takes place post-season-two in a world where Bellamy’s forgiveness was enough to make her stay.

X X X

The fallen Ark Station should have felt like home to the Delinquents that remained, but it didn’t. It just couldn’t. They had been through too much to trust the people that had sent them to Earth to die, to test the waters, maybe to live. Clarke wanted to be happy to see her mother again. She wanted to surrender, to feel safe, to let of the weight on her soul, but those feelings didn’t come. The Delinquents only came to her when they were hurt. When there was a problem, they only went to Bellamy and Bellamy would only come to her.

Clarke was exhausted. She couldn’t remember the last time she had slept through the night. If the nightmares didn’t wake her, then something else did. She walked across the camp, pausing to check in on Jasper and Monty as they tended a small garden together. 

“Don’t grow anything you shouldn’t,” she reminded them.

Monty grinned at her cheekily. 

Jasper didn’t look up from the soil overturned in his hands. He was still struggling to look at her, to accept what she had done to save them, to adjust to the sacrifices she had made. Most of all, he thought about what he would have done if he had to make that choice. Looking inside himself was frightening. He didn’t know how Clarke and Bellamy had done it for so long.

“We’re okay,” Monty said to Clarke when Jasper didn’t respond. “Really.”

Clarke nodded slowly and turned away from them. She struggled to put one foot in front of the other and just walk towards the Medical Bay. She wanted to be there in case something happened and one of her people needed her. 

She saw Bellamy standing near the roaring fire that they kept going at all hours. He had been given a weapon as a show of good faith from the Chancellor, Clarke’s mother. He kept it close to his side at all times and Clarke tried not to see the way his knuckles whitened as he clutched it. His eyes scanned the trees, watched, guarded, protected. As she approached, his eyes flashed to her and she felt his gaze rake her like a physical touch. A little warmth pulled inside her chest. It was good to know he had her back.

The world tilted and Clarke paused to rub her eyes. She was so tired that her vision was beginning to blur. She fought back a yawn and continued towards Bellamy. The heat of the fire seeped into her skin as she stood at his side. “Everything alright?” she asked him since he had just come off watch.

Bellamy looked as tired as she felt. His face was drawn and dark circles lined his chocolate eyes. His battered face was only just beginning to heal at the edges and Clarke’s fingers itched with the desire to check on his wounds. Bruises framed his cheekbones, his mouth, his throat, his elbows and wrists. He was still recovering from having his blood drawn and used. “It’s fine,” he told her. “We still have peace with the Grounders and…” The weight fell between them, shared. The people on Mount Weather wouldn’t cause them any more problems because they had irradiated all of them.

Clarke swayed on her feet. She was so tired that she couldn’t bear those memories right now. She leaned into Bellamy and felt him press back to support her. She closed her eyes, telling herself it would just be for a few minutes, and breathed deeply. She could smell the soap used on Bellamy’s clothes and skin and something beneath that was solely him. It wrapped around her, comforting and strong. She fell asleep, still leaning precariously against him.

“Clarke!” Abby shouted across the camp.

Bellamy turned his head quickly. He was still skittish around the Chancellor and no one could really blame him. After everything he had done to protect the Hundred and Clarke, he still wasn’t trusted. Abby still saw him as the lowly janitor that had shot Chancellor Jaha, who had punched John Murphy ferociously, who disobeyed and escaped. His sudden movement dislodged Clarke from his side and she tumbled into the dirt. 

Abby cried out in alarm and fear.

Before she could even begin to run for her daughter, Bellamy knelt beside her and pulled Clarke into his arms. He pushed her hair out of her face and cupped his hand over her mouth. Her breathing was deep and even. She had simply passed out, probably from exhaustion. “She’s alright,” he told Abby as she dropped to her knees beside them.

“I’ll be the judge of that,” she said sharply and tried to pull Clarke from his hold.

Bellamy’s skin prickled but he forced his hands to release Clarke to her mother. Shockingly, Clark curled her fingers in Bellamy’s jacket so tightly that Abby couldn’t loosen her grip. She pressed herself into Bellamy silently, her face peaceful in sleep. 

“I can carry her to the Med Bay,” Bellamy offered.

Since there didn’t seem to be another option, Abby nodded.

Bellamy lifted Clarke gingerly from the ground and carried her across camp. All eyes turned to them and a few people whispered. Abby opened the door for him and he carefully eased through it, being mindful of his weapon and Clarke’s legs. He settled her onto the bed under Abby’s narrowed gaze. 

“Clarke,” he whispered and tried to loosen her fingers. “You’re safe. Let go.”

To Abby’s surprise, Bellamy’s voice appeared to reach her. She uncurled her fingers and settled against the pillows.

Bellamy stepped away with a soft breath. 

Abby bustled around her daughter, examining her with a clinical eye. “She’s a little dehydrated and malnourished,” she murmured more to herself than to Bellamy. “I’ll get her started on an IV.”

Bellamy stood beside Clarke as Abby gathered the supplies she needed. When she slipped the needle into Clarke’s elbow, she woke with a hiss and looked around blearily. 

“Hey, sweetheart,” Abby crooned and cradled Clarke’s hand in her own.

Clarke stared at her mother for a moment. Her blue eyes were wide and stricken.

Despite himself, Bellamy took her other hand. He didn’t speak, but gently rubbed his thumb across her knuckles. 

Clarke tore her gaze from Abby and squeezed Bellamy’s fingers. “What happened?” she asked him. “The last thing I remember is leaning up against you.”

“You passed out,” he explained softly. “Chancellor Griffin said you’re dehydrated and malnourished.”

“I’m just tired,” Clarke murmured. She pulled her hand from Abby to rub her eyes again. “I haven’t been sleeping.”

Bellamy shook his head. “Me neither.”

Abby made a disgusted noise in her throat and turned away. She began rattling through their supplies, adjusting the position of bandages and medicines in the cabinet. She couldn’t believe Clarke would sooner melt into Bellamy Blake than her mother’s arms. 

Clarke squeezed his hand. “Will you stay with me?” she whispered.

Bellamy nodded.

Clarke scooted over on the narrow bed to make room for him, but he shook his head. He could already feel Abby’s disapproving glare on him. He hooked a chair with his foot, dragged it over, and sat down beside her. Clarke gazed at him for a moment. Her eyes were glassy as though she was about to cry, but then she closed them and breathed out deeply. Within moments, she was asleep again.

“You can go,” Abby told Bellamy curtly. 

He nodded, knowing there were other places he needed to be anyway, but he couldn’t free his hand from Clarke’s. She was gripping him too tightly, clinging in her sleep-deprived unconsciousness. Bellamy made himself as comfortable as he could in the hard chair. He knew he wouldn’t be able to leave her side now and he wasn’t sure he wanted to. 

…

Lincoln kept a swift pace, his feet never once faltering on the uneven ground. He knew these woods like the back of his hand and it showed in his easy grace, his quiet footfalls, his pleasantly burning lungs. Octavia, her trust in him as unshakable as her faith in Bellamy, followed at his heels. She didn’t stumble often, but whenever she did, Lincoln was quick to steady her. They made a good pair. Lincoln was teaching Octavia to be strong, to be free, to be herself. He braided leaves, flowers, and feathers into her hair. She became a Grounder before anyone else.

Just behind them, Monty and Jasper hurried to keep up. Jasper was too thin still. His breath rattled in his lungs, little gasping sounds that set Monty’s teeth on edge. He worried about his friend. Jasper had been through so much—being speared through the chest, holding the girl he loved as she died, watching as his leaders made impossible decisions. Monty felt small between these people. All he can remember was the scar inside his hip where the drill opened his bones. It still hurt, but less than the burning in his lungs and legs as he half-ran to keep up with Octavia and Lincoln. 

A few paces behind, Clarke and Bellamy brought up the rear. Bellamy gripped his rifle tightly to keep it from bouncing against his leg, his chest, his face. There were parts of him that still hurt, but the pain was less than the weight he shared with Clarke. The burden of the lives they had taken to protect their friends. He didn’t really feel the quick pace aside from a dull burn in the back of his throat as he breathed. Beside him, Clarke jogged with an ease he envied. He supposed she spent more time running than he did. He spent his time in a cage, in chains, sneaking through air vents. 

Lincoln stopped so suddenly that Monty and Jasper nearly ran into him. He scented the air, his face upturned, and Octavia did the same.

“Do you smell it?” Lincoln asked her.

She nodded. “Rain, right?”

Lincoln smiled at her affectionately and agreed. “We should take shelter.”

Jasper and Monty were both quick to consent. 

Lincoln turned fully to look at Clarke and Bellamy. “Would you like to rest up ahead?” he asked them.

Clarke didn’t answer. Her blue eyes fixed on some distant point as though she could see through the veil of trees and into the horizon. Bellamy wondered if she could see the storm, if she could see their ghosts following, or if she was finally just admiring the Earth all around them. She had never really had a chance to do that.

“Sure,” Bellamy answered instead.

Silent understanding fell between the six of them. 

Lincoln had asked to take them away from Camp Jaha and the fallen Ark Station. He wanted to give them a chance to see his world, to enjoy it, to relax, after they had spent so long fighting. Octavia was the first to agree to come with him, followed swiftly by Monty and Jasper. It had taken a little convincing to get Bellamy and Clarke to come, but they finally relented at Raven’s encouragement. They deserved some time to live without the pressure of holding everyone’s lives in their hands. Now that the Ark was here and they had some peace with the Grounders, they could take that tiny vacation.

Lincoln led them through the forest a little ways further until they could hear running water and smell the storm in its entirety. Everyone scattered wordlessly to gather an armload of firewood before the rains drenched everything and regrouped at the small clearing that Lincoln had marked by scuffing his toes through the leaves. Once everyone returned, Lincoln swept aside a curtain of thick flowering vines to reveal a sagging wooden door. Octavia helped him open it, their hands a play of size and skin tone beside each other.

Inside, the cavern had a ceiling high enough for Lincoln to stand without stooping over, but not much higher. There was a low circle of stones as a makeshift fireplace and an assortment of roughhewn furniture pushed against the walls. Mushrooms sprouted in the corners of the cavern and strange formations of lichen grouped across the ceiling, each glowing faintly. 

“Wow,” Monty exclaimed and descended on the glowing plant life. He examined it from every angle, rubbed the texture between his fingers, and sniffed at it.

“Don’t even think about it,” Jasper chided. “Remember what happened last time?”

Monty backed off the strange plants with a grin. If the jobi nuts had taught them anything, it was not to mess around with things they didn’t recognize or were able to look up. No one needed another night of wild hallucinations. 

After being certain they weren’t about the lick the glowing plants, Octavia quickly built a fire while Lincoln pulled out the rabbit he caught earlier. They crouched together beside the fire, chatting softly. Then, Octavia smiled and it lit up her entire face. Lincoln’s mouth curved in response, his eyes dark and pinched at the corners, but it was nice to see him smile. Clarke was glad he still could after everything he had been through, everything they had all been through.

Bellamy stood at the opening of the cavern, looking out through the crack in the door. His back was broad, his shouldered knotted with tension, and his knuckles whitened around his gun.

Clarke stepped beside him. Even though they didn’t have anyone to protect right now, it was still hard to let go of that urge to watch, to stand guard.

Together, they looked out over the forest as the rain began to fall. It started gently, pattering against the foliage and soaked into the rich soil. It was soothing, but it slowly worked itself into a full-fledged storm. Cold rain slanted through the vines at them, forcing them to abandon their posts at the door. No one said anything as they both sank down uneasily across the fire from the others.

“It will probably rain for a few hours,” Lincoln told them. “But we should rest here for the night. We can be on our way in the morning.”

Bellamy nodded in agreement.

Monty and Jasper joined them at the fire, chattering eagerly about seeing the ocean for the first time. They were having an easier time letting go of their responsibilities, their worries, their fears. It was probably simpler since they hadn’t been carrying those weights for as long, but they never should have had to.

Bellamy read those thoughts on Clarke’s face, hanging heavy in her eyes, across her shoulders, and in the downturned line of her lips. He bumped against her intentionally. Her blue eyes dragged away from the sight of her friends taking turns rotating the rabbit on a spit. For a moment, she just stared at Bellamy with her gaze as brittle as ice. Then, she let her breath out in a slow even rush and reclined on her hands. A little ripple of tension slipped away and Bellamy let himself rest his rifle across his thighs. 

Lincoln sliced the rabbit expertly and handed out pieces with deliberate equality. He didn’t want Clarke or Bellamy to begin thinking they had more than the others and give some of their meal away. Both of them were so thin with their narrow waists, slender fingers, and sharp cheekbones. They needed to eat more, to unwind, to let go of the guilt that pressed them into the soil with the dead. 

“Delicious,” Clarke said. It was the first time she had spoken since they left Camp Jaha. Until now, Bellamy had been speaking for both of them when a question came up that couldn’t be answered nonverbally. 

“I used some rosemary and garlic,” Lincoln told her. “We use a lot of spices in our camps, right, Octavia?”

Octavia nodded. She visibly scraped her mouth away from her food, licking her lips rather than let a morsel go to waste. “You should see his village,” she said.

“They will,” Lincoln interrupted. 

She ignored him with a wave of her hand. “They have the most enormous garden,” she continued. “Even bigger than the one Monty’s parents had on the Ark.”

“No way,” Monty said doubtfully.

Octavia nodded. “It’s true and they grow everything.”

“Everything?” Jasper asked with a waggle of his brows. 

“Only for special occasions,” Lincoln explained. 

“They grow every kind of spice and herb and seasoning you can imagine,” Octavia continued. “And they have salt! And pepper and a thousand other things that I can’t even begin to name, but they’re delicious. Lincoln is the best cook.”

Bellamy smiled as he listened to his sister’s excitement. It felt like an eternity since she had been this happy and she laughed as though making up for lost time. It was Clarke’s turn to firmly nudge him before he was pulled too deeply into his own thoughts. Now that they were on Earth, Octavia would never have to be trapped beneath the floor again. Bellamy no longer had to give up half of his life to protect her, to make sure she had what she needed, to give her whatever he could. The world was big and free. 

They finished their dinner and lapsed into easy conversation. 

Lincoln told them about the places he wanted to show them with Octavia occasionally interjecting an opinion. Jasper and Monty asked enough questions for all of them until Lincoln looked a little exasperated. Bellamy and Clarke listened comfortably. 

Octavia watched them as Lincoln spread out his map. For the first time in months, her brother looked tranquil and a little sleepy. He still held his weapon in his lap, but it wasn’t jammed into his shoulder with his finger curled around the trigger to protect and kill at a moment’s notice. His shoulders, which had been hard and strong for as long as she could remember, slumped as he leaned against the wall. The dark circles beneath his eyes and the healing wounds on his face were softened in the firelight. He looked serene.

Beside him, so close that their shoulders nearly touched, Clarke looked similar. Though less battered than her brother, there was a darkness in her eyes that didn’t quite touch Bellamy. Octavia could practically see the dead clinging to Clarke, clutching at her with bony hungry fingers. Her light hair hung limp around her face, making her skin look paler than it was. Clarke and Bellamy had been making difficult decisions to keep everyone alive for so long. They deserved to have the peace and freedom that they had fought so hard for. 

“We should sleep,” Lincoln said as he curled his arm around Octavia’s shoulders. “It’s late.”

Octavia nodded. 

In unison, the six of them shuffled into their packs and pulled out the warm fur bedrolls that Lincoln had brought especially for their trip. They stretched around the fire together, tossing out stones and sticks to make sleeping on the earthen floor as comfortable as possible. Though the furs were insolating, the chill of the storm had soaked into the ground. They would need to keep the fire going if they were going to stay warm all night. 

Lincoln fed another log to the fire and then curled up with his back to the doorway. After a moment, Octavia came to nestle under his arm and chin, curling her back against his front with his strong arm looped around her. Lincoln immediately pulled his blankets over the both of them and tucked his face into her wild hair. Octavia closed her eyes and was asleep in an instant that was enviable. His eyes met Bellamy’s with something between trust and worry.

Clarke was a little surprised when Bellamy didn’t protest their closeness. Very slightly, he nodded his approval to Lincoln. 

Monty and Jasper didn’t curl together, but they shared a bundled jacket as a pillow. Their heads pressed together and they argued slightly as they got comfortable alongside the fire. Monty fell asleep almost as quickly as Octavia, shifting uncomfortably as the lingering pain in his bones made itself known. Jasper lay awake for a while longer, his breathing giving away his unrest. His lips pinched together as he listened to his friend try to find a comfortable position. 

For their part, Bellamy and Clarke remained leaning against the wall for a long moment. They just watched over their friends, their families, each other. Bellamy finally pulled himself away from the wall and curled into his furs, leaving a hefty space between himself and the fire with his gun in easy reach. He didn’t remove the layers of clothes he wore against the elements, but he did take off his heavy boots and tuck them aside like the others did. It felt strangely freeing to be able to curl his toes.

“Come on, Clarke,” he murmured when she showed no signs of following him. “You can sleep closer to the fire.”

“That isn’t necessary,” she protested softly.

“Don’t give me that,” he whispered. 

Clarke peeled herself away from the wall and stretched out in front of him. The fire was warm against her front, but Bellamy was far enough away that she couldn’t feel the heat of his body. Carefully, she toed off her boots and stretched deliciously. She stared into the fire until her eyes began to droop. Jasper finally fell asleep and she listened to the sounds of everyone’s even breathing. Behind her, Bellamy was so quiet that she almost thought he was gone. Clarke closed her eyes and tried to let go of everything that pressed down on her.

She was almost asleep when she heard Bellamy move behind her. She ignored it, thinking he was just getting more comfortable, when his warm brown arm slipped under her blankets, latched around her waist, and tugged her back against his chest. Immediately, she was swamped in so much warmth that she thought she would just melt into a blissful puddle. She couldn’t remember the last time she had felt so warm, but Bellamy’s hand was settled snuggly under her breasts and she figured she should pry him off now before he got any ideas.

“Bellamy, what—”

He hushed her and sleepily mumbled, “I’m just cold.”

Clarke pushed at his arm half-heartedly, warring between what would have been proper on the Ark and how silly that was after everything they had been through together. He tightened his grip on her and his face pressed into her back. His breath was warm and slow, puffing against her skin softly. Clarke relented with a heavy sigh and ran her hand over his arm. She could feel the raised ridges of his scars, his muscles, his bones. She relaxed against him, tucking the blanket under her chin.

“Clarke.”

Clarke’s eyes snapped open and she found herself staring into Octavia’s dark orbs. “Be quiet, Octavia,” Clarke whispered fiercely. 

“But—”

“It’s nothing,” Clarke told her firmly. “He’s cold and it doesn’t matter.”

Octavia relented with concern still in her eyes. She curled a little deeper into Lincoln’s embrace and appeared to go back to sleep.

Clarke lay awake for a moment longer. Her heart pounded a ragged tattoo against her ribcage, thrumming beneath the press of Bellamy’s warm long-fingered hand. Slowly, she forced herself to breathe in and out. Honestly, it didn’t matter if Bellamy slept pressed against her. They weren’t doing anything and there was no reason they shouldn’t be warm. They did enough for each other so what was a little closeness compared to shouldering the weight of the lives they had taken in Mount Weather.

Consoling herself with these thoughts, Clarke settled contently against Bellamy’s chest. His arm was unyielding around her but not constricting. It was a warm sturdy presence, just like Bellamy, protecting her from the cold and the world around her. He burrowed a little closer against her back, murmuring in his sleep. Clarke stroked his bare arm with her fingertips, tracing a single long scar that she found near his wrist. Slowly, she drifted off to sleep with the sounds of Bellamy’s breathing and the crackle of the fire echoing in her mind.

…

When Clarke woke in the morning, the cavern smelled delicious and her mouth watered at the thought of whatever Lincoln was cooking. She inhaled deeply, eyes fluttering as she came fully awake. Then, she became aware of Octavia giggling very quietly. Clarke’s eyes snapped open and she looked around hastily. 

Lincoln was seated at the fire, cooking with his eyes fixed on the small pan he carried in his pack. Jasper and Monty were seated across from him, alternately chatting and casting quick glances at Clarke that made their lips twitch into repressed smiles. Octavia was the only one not pretending. When she realized Clarke was awake, she burst out laughing uproariously. 

“Octavia, what the—” Clarke began to demand and tried to heft herself into a sitting position—‘tried’ being the operative word. For a moment, panic swelled in her chest. Had she been injured and paralyzed? But she doubted her friends would all be laughing if that was the case. She squirmed helplessly, unable to move any of her limbs more than an inch.

“I tried to warn you,” Octavia said behind her toothy grin, “but you wouldn’t listen.”

“What?” Clarke asked.

Octavia reached out and pulled away Clarke’s blankets. The cool morning air gusted over her, but she didn’t immediately shiver as she had been half-expecting. She was still comfortably warm and unable to move. She looked down at herself and saw a hand resting against her breast. She immediately tried to move, too feel for the invisible wires binding her, but when she wiggled her fingers, the fingers on that hand did not wiggle. Clarke stared at it for a moment, uncomprehending. 

Then, she recognized those hands. They were broad and strong and scarred and definitely not hers. They were Bellamy’s. She hissed at him, squirming anew, but his arms tightened around her further and he grumbled wordlessly into her back. Clarke wiggled her fingers again and felt them somewhere against her thigh. Her other hand was curled between Bellamy’s fingers, clenched beneath her chin, and her head was pillowed on his folded arm. 

She wriggled her toes and tried to bend her knees only to find that her legs were pinned securely between Bellamy’s. His knee pressed between her thighs, flush with the heat she hoped he couldn’t feel through his jeans. Against her back, he was warm and still breathing deeply with exhausted sleep. She squirmed again, trying to wrest any one of her limbs free from him, but she couldn’t do more than bend her neck to look at his slumbering face.

His breath puffed evenly in little warm clouds. His troubled brow was smooth with peace, his split lip didn’t look like it pained him, and the pulse beat softly in his throat. The dark circles beneath his eyes had abated. His dark curls tumbled over his forehead and cheeks, tickling softly against the back of Clarke’s neck. Like this, he looked younger than he was and Clarke was a little loathe to wake him after both of them had spent so long being unable to sleep through the night. He must have been exhausted not to wake up through all her wriggling.

Then, Octavia giggled again and Clarke’s sympathy vanished. 

“Bellamy,” she hissed at him. “Let go!”

Drowsily, he only burrowed tighter against her back. He gripped her fingers a little more securely.

His arms and legs seemed to go on for miles. He was wrapped around her like a veritable prison.

“Help me,” Clarke pleaded.

“Nope.” Octavia sat back and watched Clarke struggle some more, amused. “You should have listened to me last night.”

Clarke let out a breath of incredulous air. “What?”

“Bellamy is a cuddle octopus,” Octavia said plainly. 

Clarke just stared at her in shock. 

Octavia reached out to ruffle his dark hair affectionately. Her fingers lingered, smoothing over a bump where he had been struck. “I’ve never seen him snuggle anyone so badly,” she murmured. 

Clarke squirmed, but was unable to free herself. 

“Just give him a few more hours,” Octavia said. “I’m sure he’ll wake up on his own and let you go.”

“And if he doesn’t?” Clarke asked since she already sensed defeat.

“We’ll come back for you,” Jasper promised.

Clarke glowered at him.

Octavia pulled the blankets back over Clarke and Bellamy, tucking them in gently. “I’m sure he’ll let go once he wakes up,” she assured Clarke. Then, her eyes went soft, “Until then, will you just let him sleep?”

Clarke wanted to protest, but she knew she had left Bellamy in a similar predicament a few days ago. Clarke figured she owed him this. Besides, at least this was comfortable and warm. She might even go back to sleep herself if Octavia would just stop laughing at them. 

Mumbling in his sleep, Bellamy’s arm curled around her. His fingers curved between her breasts, resting where he could feel her heartbeat, and his deep breathing comforted her. Clarke settled in the tangle of his arms and legs with a sigh. He needed this and she could give it to him. She would. She would give him anything he needed so long as it was in her power to give.

X X X

Well, I started this just wanting to write a scene where Bellamy was a cuddle octopus and though I did accomplish that, it got way out of hand. 

Questions, comments, concerns?


End file.
